Guilt
by DrowinginRedInk
Summary: I should have seen it coming. I should have. Esmé was my legal guardian, for goodness sakes. I lived with her. And yet in spite of every sign, I was caught off guard.


I should have seen it coming. I should have. Esmé was my legal guardian, for goodness sakes. I lived with her. And yet in spite of everything, I was caught off guard.

When Esmé pushed us down that elevator shaft, I didn't just scream because of the fall and the darkness. I screamed because of the surprise, and because of the betrayal. I hadn't particularly liked Esmé—she was superficial, and carried herself with a suffocatingly self-important air—but I'd still trusted her. I believed she was flawed and I knew she wasn't self-aware enough to fix her faults, but I never thought she was actively malicious. Right until I found myself tumbling into such complete and utter blackness, I had hoped that deep down, she was good, somewhere underneath every layer of rudeness. But I had been horrendously naive, impossibly oblivious, and most importantly, I had been wrong.

I should have noticed. I should have seen all the ways Klaus was off. He was too quiet, too solidarity, too standoffish, and all of it was out of the blue. People don't shift that dramatically simply because they dislike their guardians. They shift because something has happened, something very wrong. But despite being his older sister, the person he trusted more than anyone else in the world, I never saw just how broken he was. I certainly never stopped to wonder why.

When we fell down the elevator, Klaus only screamed for an instant. He gave a short, reflexive shriek, and then he began to laugh. He laughed long and bright, so strongly that the entire elevator seem flooded with light until the moment we hit the net. Then, quiet enough that I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it, he muttered, "I knew it. I knew she was no good," vindication thick in his voice. I turned towards him, but he shook his head vigorously enough that I could see it through the darkness. Then he nodded toward Sunny. Even after everything we'd seen, there were still things she was too young to know.

I shouldn't have needed Klaus to tell me. After All, when Count Olaf asked me to play his bride, Klaus wasn't surprised in the slightest, because he'd picked up on every tell. It was such a relief to know I wasn't the only person who'd noticed the roaming of Olaf's eyes and the lust in his gaze. But instead of picking up on such signs, how did I repay Klaus? By only wondering why Esmé seemed so haughty and he so withdrawn; by missing every one of her stolen glances; and by never bothering to investigate everything that was so clearly wrong. The clues were so simple, so obvious, and yet despite it all, I never put it together.

We were lucky that Sunny was the only one able to climb out, scaling the walls with her teeth. If she hadn't gone up by herself, I don't know if Klaus could have brought himself to explain. He easily might have hidden it all from me, just to protect Sunny. But instead, when she was halfway up the shaft he began to whisper, something that was less an explanation, and more a confession. "We were alone in the same room once, Esmé and I, and she began to talk sweetly and move closer. I thought it was a hallucination—how could a woman like Esmé—a respected, presentable woman—behave like that? And even when she kissed me, I thought…" I saw his outline shaking his head. "I didn't even know what I thought. But I was certain it was all in my head until this moment."

I didn't hug him, though I wanted to. I knew better, not when intimacy was what had been used against him in the first place. But I nodded, and I whimpered, and I felt the guilt settle deep in my chest. He shouldn't have had to tell me. And yet he did. I had done nothing to protect him, nothing to stop it, nothing at all, all because I hadn't seen a thing. The heaviness it brought to my throat was nearly enough to choke me. "You can't tell anyone," Klaus said. "Not Sunny, not Jerome, not Mr. Poe, not the Quagmires—no one. Not a word."

"Of course," I answered, but I already felt the blame tighten in my throat. A catastrophe had happened, an incident beyond belief, and now I couldn't even talk through my feelings without hurting him more. My mouth was sewn shut, my conscience only able to push the guilt down deeper into my gut, never to alleviate it. All I had left was blame and silence, trapped deep in my chest. It felt as though I'd have to cut open my ribs to find any relief.

I still carry the guilt through locked lips. I don't have a choice. I made a promise, after all. But still, though Klaus forbid me from dwelling on it, told me to move on, I still find myself retaining the feelings. How can I not, when my conscience was right? I should have noticed. I should have spoken to him. I should have done anything, anything at all except for remaining cloaked in obliviousness. I could have seen it, could have stopped it, but I didn't. Eternal guilt is the punishment I deserve.


End file.
